


Freak Fortress 2

by bukkunkun



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Child Abuse, Curses, Monsters, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Violence, Past Relationship(s), Temporary Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TF2 Nightmare AU, presented by <a href="hotsexycactus.tumblr.com">Cactus</a> and myself.</p><p> </p><p>All Miss Pauling wanted to do was to complete her mission. She didn't know things would get so... complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Extraction

**Author's Note:**

> TF2 Nightmare AU, created, designed and imagined by the lovely [Cactus](hotsexycactus.tumblr.com) and brought to life by myself.
> 
> After several months' hiatus, it's now back and on AO3! 
> 
> Updates when Cactus uploads the newest part on her blog.

She had been chasing something, when she had noticed something was wrong. The air’s temperature had dropped significantly, plummeting into degrees lower than it should be, the cold biting into her skin as she ran through the clammy air, gooesebumps appearing across her pale skin, spattered occasionally with deep red droplets of blood.

The gun in her hands was still warm, still hot from the last gunshot that destroyed a lock. The shot before that killed a man.

Panting heavily, she came to a stop at a crossroads, her eyes darting around to survey the area behind cat-eye-rimmed glasses. Her purple blouse and skirt was caked with blood, the deep red already turning brown in the cool-cold- _biting_ air around her as she moved, her chest heaving up and down as she gathered herself and planned her next move.

A flash of silver caught her eye from the west, and she grinned.

“ _Dearest darling Unisus, where art thee_?” she sang, walking slowly towards where the flash used to be. “ _I’ve got a wish, please do listen to me_.” She slowly, quietly hid her gun in her holster under her skirt, smoothing it down as she crept towards crates stacked up on top of each other. The air was getting _much_ colder now, but she couldn’t just leave—not when her target was finally within reach.

A flash of a wing, a little croon reached her ears, and much to her delight, a cautious face peered out from behind the crates. A worker’s yellow hardhat and goggles covered the Unisus’s face and eyes (he must have picked it up while he was running away, she thought, she passed by a construction area as she came here) as he peered out at her. She offered him a kind smile, holding out the hand she deemed clean enough (at least, the one without blood on it) and beckoned the frightened little creature over.

“Hello. What’s your name, dear?” she asked, keeping her tone kind despite the rising feeling of both anticipation and anxiousness.

The Unisus replied to her in a soft voice: “I’m… an Engineer.”

“I’m Miss Pauling.” She said, “I have a wish, Engie, could you come with me so I can tell you?”

The net in her sleeves was ready for deployment. The blood vial, unscrewed, the sacrificial—no, _extraction_ —knife was sharpened and polished to a beautiful gleam.

She was _so ready_ for this.

The Unisus shuffled over to her, unsure, and her hand twitched.

 _Yes_.

The Unisus paused, and warily, he touched her hand—

And pulled back, whining in pain as he flinched away from her, like her touch burned.

“You’re… a murderer!” he gasped, holding his hand away from her, his mouth hanging agape as he back away. “Murderer…!”

“I prefer the term assassin,” Miss Pauling replied coolly. “But this is good enough,” her expression quickly turning cold as she grabbed his wrist, and pulled him closer to her forcibly, the net springing out from her sleeve and covering him with it.

Engineer let out a cry of protest as he writhed around in the net, his arms thrashing around in a vain attempt to let him get out as Miss Pauling secured the net tightly, tying it up before dropping it unceremoniously on the ground with a satisfying _thud_.

“Right, hold still. I’ve got three jars to fill and you’d better last for four.” She growled, pulling out three vials from her belt-bag, before reaching for a glinting knife strapped to her thigh. “Unisus blood sells _quite_ a lot, I’ve heard, and unfortunately for you—fortunately for _me_ —my boss needs some to, ah, _convince_ certain people.” She paused, before taking a look at the Unisus now weakly struggling in the net, shocked upon hearing of his fate. “Of course, who they are don’t matter to you.”

Smirking, she shook her head, before grabbing hold of Engineer’s arm. “Hey, at least it isn’t _my_ blood.”

Engineer shook his head in protest, pulling his arm from her, but Miss Pauling held on tightly.

“Don’t move,” she sternly told him, “You’re only going to hurt yourself more.”

“… _Ai_ …” he whined, as she held the knife closer to his arm. She paused, and turned to look at him. “… S-Spy…”

“I’m not a spy,” she told him, “What spy are you talking about?”

“ _Right behind you_.”

Her eyes widened.

* * *

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

The bespectacled man snorted lightly to himself, as he crossed his leg over the other as he sipped at his tea, quietly waiting for the confession to finish as he idly went through the teacup, occasionally nibbling at a crumbling biscuit.

He pulled a face when he heard crying, wailing, even. He rolled his eyes, and he tossed a biscuit at the confessionary. People couldn’t see him, anyway, especially the heavy cloak and hood on his shoulders and head, the scythe resting on the chair next to him, and most especially the darkness radiating from him.

 A hand popped out from the priest’s side of the confessionary, and showed him a rude gesture, before retracting back into the room.

Death laughed.

“Hurry up, _mein freunde_ , or I’ll be called off somewhere!”

“Thank you, Father,” he heard the human say, before walking out of the confessionary with a sombre look on his face. The priest stepped out of his own side, fiddling with the rosary around his neck with an annoyed expression on his face.

“What is it this time?” Death asked, as the priest sat down across him on the tea table.

“Adultery. Bloody people can’t bloody get over their damn birds, why can’t they just leave their bloody Sheila?” he grumbled, downing his own mug of coffee.

“Herr Sniper, you know what humans are like.” He chuckled in reply, pulling out a golden pocket watch. “Oh?”

“Medic?” the Sniper asked, peeking up at his old friend.

The Medic smirked, “It would seem that a friend of ours has run into trouble.”

“Bloody hell. Don’t tell me it’s Engie again.” Sniper grumbled, turning to reach for his Bible. “You’re not _really_ going to take him away this time, are you? I like the ribs he makes.”

“ _Nein_ , it is not Engie who will die tonight.” Medic replied, closing the pocket watch to smile at Sniper. “It’s who messed with him.” His smirk turned sinister, as he reached for his scythe. “What _is_ interesting, though, is _who_ did the killing.”

“Shit, did _Engie_ do it?” Sniper asked, incredulous. “Did _Engie_ , out of all 8 of us, _actually_ kill someone?”

Medic stared at him, unimpressed.

“ _I_ kill people every day, you silly bushman. And besides, for a priest, you swear a lot.”

Sniper rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, _nurse_.” He replied, “Come on, we haven’t got all day.”

Medic chuckled, and sliced his scythe through the air.

* * *

It was strange how a little kiss on the neck turned into something like this.

Gentle laps laved lovingly at her neck. Lips kissed the skin gently, reverently, like a lover.

Fangs were digging into her flesh. Her blood was running out of her and into the man’s mouth.

She was dying.

By—of all things—a fucking _vampire_. She should have known.

The Unisus was beating at the vampire’s— _Spy’s_ —legs, begging him to stop.

She laughed, defeated. Until the end, those damn Unisus were always so kind. So gentle and understanding.

“ _Non, mon petit lapin_ ,” Spy gently replied, pulling away from her to look at him, before turning back to her neck, murmuring another sweet nothing into her skin.

“But Spy, she’s going to die! Medic will be here any minute—”

“And I am here. With Herr Sniper.” The man spoke up, and Spy lifted his mouth from Miss Pauling’s neck, lips dripping with her blood. The only human amongst them looked at him, and her eyes widened.

It was Death himself; he had come to get her.

It seemed her time had come.

She sighed tiredly as the man came up to her, taking her from Spy’s hands.

“You are dying.” He told her, as the vampire walked away from her to banter with the priest that came along with Death.

“So I’ve noticed.” She weakly replied.

“Are you afraid?”

“No.”

He smirked at her.

“Do you wish to keep living?”

“No.” she replied, as her breaths began to slow down. “I’ve… failed… her…”

“Who?”

“Ma’am… Helen.”

Death smirked.

“I see.” Was all he said, as she took one last breath of her life.

The last thing she saw was his scythe passing over her, the clinking of a pocket watch’s chain accompanying its gentle _whoosh_.


	2. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As dreams are real, so are the nightmares.

“They’re _real_ , Ma.” The boy pressed, even as the woman tucked him gently into bed, kissing his forehead gently before turning off the nightlight next to his bed. “ _Ma_ ,” he insisted, grabbing onto her hand, his own trembling. “Please.” He pleaded, sitting up to look at her with a desperate expression on his face.

“Scout, baby, go to sleep.” She softly told him, smoothing his hair back reassuringly, “They’re only nightmares, darling. Nothing more.”

“Ma, they talk to me—they tell me things, they _do_ things to me,” he replied, his voice quivering. “I’m—I’m _scared_ , Ma.”

“Shh, honey, it’s okay,” she hushed him, hugging him warmly before settling him down again. “Your Pa and I are just in the next room, okay? The doctor said you have to sleep, baby. You need rest.” She told him, turning the night light on to look at him properly.

“But Ma,”

“Scout,” she sighed, “I really wish I could help you go to sleep faster, but pills are just too dangerous, the doctor said. You’d grow dependent on them, and they’re too expensive.” She pulled away from him, apologetic. “Sorry, but just close your eyes and relax. You’ll fall asleep eventually.” She paused for a moment, seeing her son hesitate, but obey, slinking back into bed with a most heartbreaking look on his face, and her heart melted with love for her son.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what, I’m going to teach you a song, okay?” she smiled at him, “My Ma taught it to me when I was younger, when I was scared of the dark, too.”

“It’s not the dark, Ma, it’s the _things_ in it,” Scout spoke up, but she shook her head, kissing his forehead again to calm him down, before clearing her throat.

“ _Dearest darling Unisus, where art thee_?” she sang gently, and the boy fell silent. He always loved listening to his mother sing; her voice wasn’t the smoothest he had heard, but the husk and that warm roughness in her Alto voice was the warmest he had ever heard. It always lulled him into calmness whenever she sang. “ _I’ve got a wish, please do listen to me._ ” She stroked his hair slowly, soothingly as she sang. “ _Chase away the darkness, fill my heart with light. Take me far away from here, with your wings so bright_.”

Scout calmed down under her warm touch, and his eyes drooped closed in her warmth. A smile crossed her lips as she quietly shut the night light off as her son’s eyes slid shut.

“ _Unisus, please be my friend, by my side do keep._ ” She watched as Scout slowly fell asleep, his breaths evening out and his grip on her hand loosening as his slumber deepened. “ _So that when morning comes at last, I wake from peaceful sleep_.”

She smiled as she watched her little boy sleep peacefully again, for the first time in forever.

“Scout, honey,” she gently told him, so as to not rouse him from sleep as she slowly stood up. “The Unisus will come if you call for him that way. He’ll protect you from your nightmares, darling, when Ma and Pa can’t.”

Scout mumbled something in his sleep, and she giggled quietly, before leaving the room, the door sliding shut inaudibly behind her.

* * *

When all had been said and done, the spirits bade their goodbyes to each other, Medic being the first to leave, offering his friends a half-hearted wave before disappearing in a shroud of smoke, bringing along with him the dead woman he had claimed that night. Spy and Sniper had offered to stay with Engineer for a while, but the Unisus turned down their offer with a shy smile and a shake of the head. With nonchalant shrugs (they were used to Engineer’s ‘moments’ when people died around him) they bade him a good evening, and went off together to go club-hopping.

All by himself, the Unisus sighed, kicking at stones around his feet as he wandered around aimlessly in the empty street, pointedly avoiding the skip where he had run into that Miss Pauling in the first place, where he knew perfectly that there was yet another dead person there.

The thought sent shivers down his spine, and he felt the need to throw up.

Frowning, he hugged himself as he walked lazily along the main road, glad that he was practically invisible to the world around him—after all, those who believe in the Unisus are the only ones worthy of laying their eyes on him.

The familiar sound of a motorbike’s engines roaring caught his attention, however, as the cold air that surrounded him (an after-effect of Spy’s cloaking skill; the vampire used his impossibly low body temperature to allow himself to remain undetected while staying invisible) suddenly spiked in temperature. He turned around to see a motorbike tearing through the road, not a single human reacting to the flames bursting from its tyres as it passed right through the humans, leaving only faint scorch marks on the asphalt it passed through.

A tired smile crossed Engineer’s face.

“Pyro!” he called, catching the ghost rider’s attention, and with a pleased reply, Pyro came to a stop right next to him, asking him something in its unintelligible mumbling.

“Aw, well, y’know, the usual,” Engineer shrugged, “Humans trying to hunt me down.” He frowned. “I just don’t understand why some of them could be so… _greedy_ ,” he sighed, pulling a face at the thought.

Pyro replied with its string of mumbles again, and the Unisus smiled at him.

“Aw, well, I _know_ sin is rampant in this world, I get it, but… sometimes, I wish it wasn’t real.” He shrugged.

The ghost rider gestured for him to hop on, with mumbles that were meant to cheer him up, and the Unisus smiled and complied, getting on the motorbike behind the rider, before the two of them sped down the highway.

_Dearest darling Unisus, where art thee?_

Engineer’s eyes widened. “Oh, someone’s calling for me.”

Pyro sighed exasperatedly in front of him and slowed down to a halt in an alley that had apartments towering over their heads.

“No, I remember her voice, she would never harm me,” Engineer reassured him, smiling. “Ah, it’s been so long since she called. I wonder why she’s calling now? It’s been years; kids never call me more than after 20 years.”

Pyro replied with mumbles again.

“Yeah, maybe she’s teaching her kid, who knows, but I miss her!” Engineer smiled, “I’ll drop by for a visit.”

The rider mumbled at him again.

“Oh, where’s the address? Right over there,” the Unisus replied, pointing up at a decrepit-looking apartment high above their heads. “I’ll head there right now, I think!”

Pyro gasped, and wildly shook its head. Engineer cocked his, and frowned.

“Oh, okay. You guys are hiding something, aren’t you?”

Pyro shook its head wildly, the bike creaking loudly as he did so.

“Well, then,” Engineer smiled brightly, “Time to pay Claudia a visit, don’t you think?” he spread his wings, and with a little wave to the Pyro, flew high into the air and towards the apartment.

Inside its gas mask, the Pyro bit their lip.

“I’m sorry, guys, looks like he’ll find out our haunting spot!” they whined, before shaking their head, and cranking up the acceleration on the bike. If this was going to shit, he might as well bring along everyone down with him.

* * *

In his dreams, things always seemed so real.

The world around him was in such vivid colours—so vivid, he couldn’t process them, not while he was doing what he did best, anyway.

He was running, the dog tags around his neck jingling lightly around his neck as he ran, his breaths growing laboured as he could barely process himself speeding through a dark forest somewhere, the wind howling in his ear, wild, cruel laughter cutting through it like a knife as he ran for his life.

Behind him he could hear heavy footfall. A beast, panting, as it ran after him, thirsty for his blood. He couldn’t scream—his throat was already torn, ripped to shreds by a madman laughing at his silenced screams as blow after blow, a shovel dug into the soft flesh of his throat, tearing skin, muscle, blood vessels—it had felt so _real_.

The claws that dug into his arms, holding him down to the dirt felt so real.

The _fear_ felt so _real_.

Scout choked on his own blood as a root inexplicably lifted from the ground and tripped him, a piece of cartilage flying from his cervical vertebra as he fell to the ground, his head lolling limply to the side as the werewolf bore down upon him without mercy, the smell of alcohol and cigars filling his lungs as above him the werewolf howled, malicious delight clear in his single eye.

His ghost-friend caught up with them, the helmeted soldier just as delighted as he was, and Scout inaudibly whimpered.

Trapped between two monsters—his mother was wrong, they _were_ real. So very real.

And then, a memory surfaced in his mind, as the very real pain of teeth and metal bore into his very flesh, tearing silent screams from him as his mind lapsed into the recesses of his heart.

If monsters were real, then surely _other_ beings were real too, right?

For instance… a Unisus?

Scout’s eyes flew open. He remembered what his mother had sung to him as he fell asleep.

Weakly, he opened his mouth and began to mouth the words, as the werewolf above him ripped his arm away from his torso easily like it was made of paper.

 _Dearest darling Unisus_ —

His mind froze. He didn’t remember the song. Desperation kicked in, as he thought of something, _anything_ to continue.

 _Please come to me, I’ll really do anything_ —

The two monsters stopped as his mind thought this loudly, but in the rush of desperation, Scout didn’t notice.

 _Just please, set me free_!

The sudden flash of light was a welcome sight to behold.

* * *

When she came to, the first thing she realised was that she was tied up.

The next thing she noticed was the sound of chinaware clinking not too far away from her.

The third thing she realised was that she was still alive.

Miss Pauling’s eyes widened at the realisation, and jolted awake to find herself tied—hands bound together above her head—in a small cage big enough for her in what looked like a French-style sitting room. The china clinking came from the balcony to the right, where she could make out two figures through the white, swishing day curtains.

She blinked, confused. Had all that had happened yesterday been a figment of her imagination? Perhaps she had just somehow passed out in the alleyway when she had intercepted that damn man who broke their damned deal, and instead of managing to kill him, he managed to land a blow to her instead?

If that was the case, why take her away?

“Oh, she is awake,” she suddenly heard Death’s voice say, “Heavy, if you please?”

“ _Da_ , Doktor.”

Miss Pauling’s eyes widened as she came face-to-face with what looked like a reanimated corpse—it was like looking at Frankenstein’s monster all over again, but this time for real, and that was when she realised a fourth thing:

All that had happened before she blacked out was _real_.

All she knew was the corpse-man—the Heavy, Death had called him—smiled at her a little, before he reached behind her neck and pinched it.

Much to her annoyance, she blacked out again, wondering why did Death not claim her soul.

* * *

Scout woke up screaming his throat hoarse. He knew he was making  _quite_ the ruckus but he didn’t care—not when the pain was too much, it was so  _real_ .

Oddly, neither his father nor his mother came running into the room, Scout realised as he sat up in his bed, looking away from the window to look at the door to his room. Confusion filled his mind, and a light tap on his shoulder immediately froze him up in fear.

“Howdy there,” he heard someone speak up behind him, and all his insides froze in fear.

Oh, _God_. They were _real_.

“I heard you calling for me, shorty?” the voice asked, and Scout’s eyes widened in realisation, as slowly he turned around, silently hoping his wish was true—

He turned, and came face-to-face with a little man, smiling kindly at him. He was wearing a yellow worker’s hat, goggles and clothes, but that wasn’t the issue—what Scout was really staring at were the singular horn in the middle of the man’s hat, and the pure-white wings behind his back.

They _were_ real, he realised—both the monsters, and this… Unisus.


	3. Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps everything was according to some plan.

A single tear ran down Scout’s cheek as he stared at the pure creature before him—it was _real_. Everything was real, the monsters, the nightmares—he _wasn’t_ crazy, he knew it, he wasn’t crazy!

“Oh, what’s the matter, kid?” the Unisus asked him, wiping it away gently with a soft hand, smiling kindly with a little cock of his head, before patting Scout’s head. “Why’re you crying?”

“I… I…”

“I heard your mom calling, and then you, not long after that.” He continued, still chuckling, and smiling brightly. “Well, what you sang wasn’t really the actual rhyme to call for me, but hey, it’s a nice change from what I keep hearin—whoa!”

Scout didn’t let him finish, launching forward in relief to throw his arms around the Unisus’s neck and pull him into a desperate hug, sobs racking his body as he held the small man close to himself, the fluffy feathers brushing against his cold, clammy skin so warmly it was like hugging the warmest blanket he could get his hands on.

It had been so long since he had seen any sort of mercy, painfully so as Scout cried into the man’s shoulder.

The Engineer’s eyes widened behind his goggles upon feeling the boy’s despair seeping through his clothes and onto his skin. It hurt, to feel something that negative against his pure flesh, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when this child was holding onto him so desperately, it physically hurt to think of even denying him this small mercy… from whatever it was he was scared of.

“Shh, there, there, son,” he comforted, stroking the boy’s back reassuringly, “It’s alright. Mind telling me what happened here?”

“Night… nightmares,” he whimpered into the crook of his neck. “Ghosts… werewolves, living corpses, screaming wheels and fire, a vampire…” he hugged Engineer tighter. “They never stop.” He whispered shakily. “Every night, whenever I sleep. They’re always there, to torment me. My Ma and Pa don’t think it’s any big deal, they said I was wrong in the head, but—”

“Now, now, wait here,” Engineer cut him off gently, “Take a breather,” he told the boy, pulling away to smile at him reassuringly and wipe his tears away. “There’re beings haunting you?”

The boy nodded.

“My Ma and Pa think I’ve got some thing in my head, my doctor said the same thing… but I know they’re real. I mean, _you’re_ here!” he told the Unisus. “They’re gone for now,” he smiled weakly. “I think you scared them away.”

Engineer felt a flush of embarrassment cross his cheeks. Him, scare away dark demons? Oh, who’d have thought?

“Aw, shucks,” he smiled, “I didn’t know I could do that.” He smiled, “But what I _am_ sure is that it’s the Unisus’s purpose to take care of believers like you,” he told the boy, patting his still-shaking hands. “I exist to foster light and hope.” Engineer stole a look around the room, wary of any other creatures that were still possibly there—and he saw it: two silhouettes attempting to hide away from his vision at the corner of the room, behind the boy’s closet. He frowned slightly, but turned it into a smile at the boy again. “Just call for me whenever they come, okay? I promise, I’ll take care of you.”

The smile that slowly spread across the boy’s face was heartwarming, and Engineer felt it blossom in his heart. Oh, it had been far too long since he felt such happiness from someone.

It was a nice feeling; Engineer decided he would stay with this boy, from this day forth.

“What’s your name, anyway?” he asked, “I’m an Engineer.”

“Scout.” The boy replied weakly, and suddenly he yawned.

“Aw, look at that. I think it’s high time you go to sleep, son.” He smiled, gently laying the boy down on his bed, tucking him in properly, the boy’s hand in his, squeezing tightly.

“You won’t leave me?”

“It’s in the song, kid. Of course I won’t.”

Scout smiled at him, and slowly, he fell asleep, for once, in peaceful sleep.

The moment Scout’s breaths evened, Engineer straightened up and glared into the darkness.

“Mind explaining yourselves, Soldier, Demo?” he frowned, his free hand on his hip, as his two friends emerged from the darkness, shame clear on their faces. “Why are you haunting this poor boy?”

“The others were doing it,” Demoman growled, rubbing his snout with his claw, clearly embarrassed at having been caught in the act. “To be honest, I think Spy started it.”

“… _Sta_ —what do you mean, you’ve been haunting this poor kid since—”

“Since he hit 5!” Soldier cut in, the ghost saluting the shocked Engineer. “It was kind of a thing, his fear tasted real nice, so…” he shrugged, “We kept going at it.”

“This is cruel!” Engineer protested, “How could you single-out this poor kid?”

“He’s cursed, Engie.” Soldier deadpanned, and Engineer’s eyes widened.

“What…?”

“Cursed to forever emit only fear, we’ve been told,” Demoman replied, “Ask Spy or Medic about it, I’m pretty sure _they_ know.”

“So, we’re leaving now!” Soldier declared. “See you later, Engie!”

“H-hey, wait!”

With loud cackles, the two spirits waved him goodbye, and raced out the window in dark black clouds of smoke.

* * *

Miss Pauling awoke to the sound of a man murmuring prayers above her. She cracked open her eyes to see the priest she saw standing with Death (Sniper, was it?) holding a rosary over her face, murmuring what sounded like the Lord’s Prayer in Latin. His eyes widened slightly behind his yellow-tinted sunglasses, and while he continued reciting the prayer, the most shit-eating grin spread across his lips.

Miss Pauling woke up properly at _that_. Groaning, she sat up, pushing him aside, all around her hushed murmurs spread across the room.

“She’s alive now.” The priest spoke up, standing up and offering her a hand to help her get up, but she glowered at him and stood up herself.

 _I know you’re in with this,_ she thought aggressively at the man, as the people around him shared hushed whispers, some of them crossing themselves as they looked on in awe.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, grabbing the priest’s shoulder, but the man easily pulled out of her grasp like he was made of smoke, and smiled at her graciously.

“I had successfully exorcised an evil spirit from inside you.” He told her, tapping her neck with a finger. “There’s a remnant, though. You might want to hide that.”

She blinked, and felt her neck, to find the bite marks were still there. The exorcist smirked at her, before with a mock salute, he bade her goodbye, before walking away.

“Hey, wait here, what’s going on?” she demanded, but the man simply waved her off, and pointed behind her. Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow and turned around—

Only to see her _very_ disappointed boss.

“A-Administrator,” she stammered, as she came up to her, displeasure clear on her face.

“We almost had that Unisus,” the woman growled, “How could you have let it get away?” she batted Miss Pauling’s neck roughly. “And you get bitten by a vampire, that I had to call _him_ here? Do you know how much that exorcist Sniper cost just getting here?”

“Ma’am, I—”

“No interjections! I want you to get that Unisus blood!” she barked, before sharply turning on her heel, stalking away.

Miss Pauling grumbled, and crossed her arms.

Death did this, no doubt. Kept her alive to suffer _this_ bullshit. She took a look around, and felt for her gun holster at her thigh. A relieved sigh escaped her lips when she felt her weapons still there.

Well, if she wasn’t going to die by that vampire’s hand, she’ll have to do it herself.

She pulled her gun out, removed the safety and pointed it at her temple.

“Goodbye, world. I should be gone by now.” She simply said, before pulling the trigger.

The gunshot hurt.

Taking breaths after that hurt a lot more, and trying to open her eyes even more so.

But what hurt the most was when all of a sudden her flesh jolted to life, and coalesced back into a functioning head, snapping back into existence with her taking a sharp breath, gasping and falling to her knees in shock in a pool of her own blood.

Miss Pauling’s eyes widened. Why wasn’t she _dead_?

She looked down at the gun, and back at herself, and pulled off the safety, before pointing it at her chest.

BANG.

Again, her body snapped back into existence. Nothing changed on her, except the fact that the pool around her knees was now much larger, and much redder.

It was impossible—she shot herself; _twice_! Why hadn’t she died?

“Because, _mein fraulein_ ,” Death spoke up behind her, and her eyes widened. Miss Pauling whirled around to see the reanimated corpse standing behind her, Death sitting rather comfortably on his left shoulder. “You’ve been cursed.” He smirked, jumping off the Heavy’s shoulder to look down at her properly. His feet didn’t even make a sound on the ground.

“Oh, what a mess,” he commented, his nose crinkling as he stepped in the pool of her blood.

“What do you mean I was cursed?” she growled, and he smirked.

“Attempting harm on the Unisus is a most grievous sin.”

“Yes, punishable by death. Why am I not dead?” she demanded.

“Because the one that stopped you was a spirit; a vampire. Because of that, you’re bound by many, many rules before you can die.” Death smirked, “I won’t be claiming your soul until you redeem yourself.”

“It’s my _job_ to get that damn Unisus’s blood.”

“Yes, but that ‘damn Unisus’ is my dear friend.” Death glared at her. “And I am _very_ angry. Heavy?”

The corpse came up to his side, and picked him up again, resting him on his shoulder with an affectionate pat on his side.

“You will continue to live, unable to neither sleep, eat, nor die, until you redeem yourself of your sin — go break some curse, whatever, just do something.” He told her condescendingly, “The moment you do, you can go kill yourself. If you _ever_ lay a hand on _any_ Unisus— _especially Engineer_ —then I will personally oversee the giving of a new chew-toy for my Archimedes.”

“Wait,” Miss Pauling spoke up, but Death held his hand up, and her mouth clamped shut.

“Redeem yourself. Or face eternal torture.” He threatened, and that was the last thing he said, before he and the Heavy disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.

Miss Pauling growled, and punched the floor.

“Goddamn it,” she swore, shaking her head, before shakily getting up. “Now I have to do some stupid good act,” she frowned, taking a look around. There was no one left in the skip she stood in, no leads to follow—

She paused. The exorcist, the Sniper! Sure, he was with the spirits, but surely he has tabs on curses to be broken.

Frowning to herself, she looked down to see her clothes were once again soaked in blood. Oh, well, time was of the essence. What mattered now was lifting her curse, not the fact that she looked like her menstruation exploded all over her.

Tiredly, she pulled herself together, and stumbled out of the skip and back into the living world.


	4. Playing With Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dangerous things are meant to be dealt with rather than trifled with.

The crows were happy today.

All alone in his personal aviary, the tombstones of the dead all around him, Death stood by himself in the midst of the silence of the midnight moon, the wind blowing around him like the caress of a lover’s touch, soft and cool and kind.

How very uplifting, he thought to himself, happy as well, as he sat down at the base of an eroded angel’s feet, one of the many crows flying to his shoulder, affectionately pecking at the rim of his hood.

Smiling, Medic reached for the bird, and it hopped onto his fingers. His free hand stroked the smooth contour feathers of its neck, as it cooed happily under his touch.

“Oh, Archimedes.” He sighed, “It’s a beautiful night out tonight, is it not?”

The crow replied with a light squawk, and the spirit laughed good-naturedly.

“Look, you and your friends, with me, in my favourite graveyard—ah, _aviary_ ,” he corrected himself, chuckling, kissing the bird’s forehead, his movements making the chain behind him clink as they moved along with his body. “With the moon, all the stars and the sky above us. Free, all alone.” He stopped, his expression growing sombre, and his impeccable posture faltered slightly. “… Yes, all alone.”

The crow nudged his hand comfortingly, hopping to his shoulder to cuddle up to the crook of his neck.

“ _Danke_ , Archimedes,” Medic quietly told his favourite bird, as around him black feathers fluttered in the peaceful wind all around him.

He thought of all those currently dying in the world, the sickly, the old, the suicidal, the murdered—all those poor, unfortunate souls that were at the receiving end of his scythe.

It had been a long time since he thought about dying—what it felt like, what it must be like. What it felt like to be the one to leave instead of being left behind.

How nostalgic. It was like he was young again, with the way he was thinking tonight. The young lady he had picked up not too long ago should be awake by now. Sniper was a good exorcist—excellent, even; removing Spy’s soul from her shouldn’t be _that_ much of a problem; he’d been doing that for centuries now, after all.

Smirking slightly, he petted Archimedes once more, as he wondered what that young lady would be up to—what lengths would she go to get that curse lifted from her?

Wheels screaming their protest against unyielding ground broke his train of thought, however, as the birds all around him, spooked, flew away at the sound of the tyres squealing their protests. Only Archimedes stayed by his side, still calmly sitting on his shoulder. His peaceful expression curled into one of disdain as he turned to see fire at the edge of the graveyard. He raised a fine eyebrow.

Goodness. He rarely came to visit at this time of the night.

Gracefully, he stood up, not making a single sound as he watched Heavy open the gates of the graveyard for his guest. He didn’t make a move to come closer. The two others approached him instead, as visitors always have.

“Pyro wanted to see you, _Doktor_.” Heavy spoke up as the two came up in front of him, as Medic crossed his arms.

“ _Danke_ , Heavy.” He nodded at the corpse-man, as the large man nodded, before heading back to the gates where he would usually stay when Medic stayed alone in his favourite graveyard. “Pyro? You rarely come to visit at this time of the night.”

The masked rider began to ramble in its muffled voice, hands waving here and there as he told his story, Medic carefully listening to him, waiting for his story to end before he spoke up again.

“Engineer found your haunting spot?” Medic repeated, and Pyro nodded. “So, he’s decided to stay with that Scout child?”

Pyro added a few more mumbles.

“Oh, you know what he’s like; he’s very stubborn.” Medic scoffed. “How did he find it?”

Pyro replied with another string of muffled mumbles.

“Someone was singing his summoning song? It’s been very long since humans have used that; I thought it was something in buried history, or other,” he frowned. “Well,” Medic began to say, when he heard a familiar howl in the distance, and with an exasperated sigh, Medic bent over—

Just in time as Demoman leapt clean over him, where his head used to be, growling in an annoyed manner, as behind him, Soldier came following after, a clearly displeased look on his face.

Medic stood up straight, glowering at his friends.

“What are you all doing here?” he growled, now upset that his quiet evening with his crows was not going to happen tonight.

“Engie found our haunting spot!” Demoman slurred, standing up on his hind legs to reach for a bottle of Scrumpy he had strapped to his belt. “We had to go away, but that was bloody uncalled for! And Spy said it was a good spot for fear!”

“It is,” Medic replied, “You know how cursed children are like—their fear is the best,” he said, as Soldier cut in.

“But it’s not usable at all if _Engie_ found him! You know what Unisus are for!” he barked at Medic, who glowered at him. The ghost paid his displeasure no attention. “What are we going to do, Kraut?”

Medic sighed, exasperated, and waved the three of them away. “For now, go to my world and we will talk about it there. Heavy?” he turned to look at the gate and the large, burling corpse came through it, nodding. “Please come with these three back to the Underworld; I’ll follow right after, I need to have a word with Spy, first.”

“ _Da_ , Doktor.” Heavy nodded, and with a small gesture and a large smile, he and the other three spirits left for the gateway to hell. Alone once more in the graveyard, Medic sighed and patted Archimedes’s shoulder, as he reached for his scythe. It disappeared in a cloud of black sand from its place, propped up against an angel statue, and reappeared in his hand.

“Spirits.” He sighed, and the crow squawked in reply, before flying away, just as Medic disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

* * *

There was absolutely no one in sight when Miss Pauling slipped into the darkness of the church. The place was practically pitch-black, save for the moonlight streaming in through stained-glass windows high above her head. They lit up a way to the back of the church, where the door to the rest of the compound was.

Silently, she took her shoes off, holding them in her left hand, and the knife intended for the Unisus in her right, in case anyone tried to attack her. She padded through the church, following the light patch in the shadows, before she reached the door at the back.

Quietly she opened the door and peered outside. The nearest building was the storehouse, and next to it, she knew, was the library. She had no idea where the Sniper was, how to even contact him, but she was sure she was going to get somewhere, at least, if she tried the library.

She scurried through the open space between the church and the storehouse, and quickly entered the wooden double-doors. She pulled out her phone from her pocket, and turned its light on, illuminating about five metres ahead of her.  Slowly, she made her way through the shelves—

And paused when she came to piles of folded clothes, presumably for those lost and orphaned to use when they came to the parish. Miss Pauling looked down at her own state of attire: her purple shirt and dress were both covered in blood, and were torn at places from her scuffle with the man she had killed prior to getting killed herself.

She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over a new set of clothes, weighing her choices, but eventually, she relented. After all, the cursed were also welcome in the parish’s walls too, right?

She quickly changed her clothes, discarding her bloody ones in the corner of the storehouse—the shock and horror of those maintaining it be damned—and pulled on a new dress: it was a simple blue one-piece, with a white belt in the middle. A small smile made its way onto her lips. It _was_ pretty cute.

There was a hat that came with it: a wide-brimmed straw sunhat, pure white with a blue ribbon tied around the middle. Chuckling slightly, she let her hair down and put the hat on.

It was vain, she knew, but a little dress-up wouldn’t hurt.

She slipped the knife back into its holster and she discarded her shoes along with her clothes, picking up a new pair that somehow matched with her own: a pair of blue flats that were vaguely of the same shade did the trick.

She headed to the back of the storeroom, braiding her hair as she went, cautiously peering out the door before exiting when the coast was clear. Heading straight to the small library, Miss Pauling secured her braid first, before peeking into the door.

“Clear,” she uttered to herself, before allowing herself in, locking the door behind her. She flicked a few lights on, and made her way to some computers at the back of the hall. She turned one on, and sat down at it, waiting for it to start up. “What do I start with?” she wondered out loud, frowning, watching as the library’s search database came up. “… Exorcists? This is a church library…”

She frowned, and hesitated, but then relented. “I guess a random search wouldn’t hurt…”

She searched for any recorded cases of exorcism, and much to her disappointment, all the names they yielded were all different, each event (major ones, anyway, and those actually recorded) spanning over 500 years of written history.

“Damn,” she swore, shaking her head, before checking for more recent cases. Surely Sniper’s name would pop out somewhere.

The most recent reports didn’t have his name, however, and instead came up with a different one: Father Richard Mundy. Frowning, Miss Pauling searched for Sniper’s name, but nothing came up. Raising an eyebrow, she searched for the priest instead. The photo that came up was one of Sniper’s, and a grin crossed her face.

“Gotcha,” she breathed, before returning to the lists of recorded exorcisms. Her eyes strayed down to entries from all the way to the 15th century. A little frown appeared on her face—her curiosity was niggling at her again, and when she entertained it, things tended to turn dangerous.

But somehow, those files couldn’t stay out of her attention, and with a little sigh of reluctant self-indulgence, she clicked on a name that appeared quite often: Hudde Maudit.

The picture that popped up, however, was quite the nasty shock.

“… Sniper?” she breathed, “No, wait; this was more than a hundred years old! How is that possible?”

She looked through the list, again, and again, all different names, all the same face, and confusion filled her mind. How? Sniper couldn’t be that old! It was impossible!

… Unless… he was like her too. Cursed, to never die—maybe he _could_ help her, after all!

“Hello, miss,” a voice spoke up from behind her, and Miss Pauling’s eyes widened to see a priest standing behind her, with an unsettling smile plastered on his face as he stiffly made his way to her. “How may I help you?”

Miss Pauling abruptly stood up, shocked at the sudden appearance of this man, and backed away from him slightly, suspiciously glaring at him.

The priest’s eyes were unfocused on her, just staring forward into space, and his limbs looked stiff. He looked far too pale to be alright, and his eyes appear to have sunken in more than they should have.

She shivered slightly, repulsed.

“I’m fine,” she paused, “Father. I’ll… be leaving now.”

“Oh, no, please stay.” The man said, his voice monotonous and cold, and Miss Pauling’s mind was already blaring at her to _run_. “There must be some way I can help you!”

The priest lunged at her, and his hands wrapped around her neck, choking her in an iron grip. She thrashed in his hold, but for some reason he was much stronger than he looked, his hands firmly clamped around her air passage, cutting off her supply of air.

Her vision began to swim. This wasn’t looking good—she was going to die, but she’ll come back, yes, but this was completely _wrong_. What was wrong with that man?

“Look at his bloody neck!” she heard a familiar voice yell at her from the doorway, and she did as she was told—and her eyes widened when she saw two distinct bite marks on the priest’s neck, that were much like her own.

This man had been bitten.

She kicked around a little more, her strength fading, as she heard doors being kicked open. She could barely make out the sight of a clear glass jar filled with what looked like water fly through the air, and hit the man strangling her.

With a loud hiss, he dropped her onto the ground, Miss Pauling crumbling to her knees, choking as she gulped air back into her lungs.

“Is this… **_mon dieu_**! Sniper!” he yelled at the doorway, “Holy water? No! I _hate_ you!” he gasped, running around for a little bit, before collapsing at the exorcist’s feet.

“Bitin’ people’s one thing, biting them _in_ the church is another, you bloody Spook.” Sniper frowned, as he walked into the library, kneeling over the unconscious priest, a rosary in his hand, as he murmured the Prayer to Saint Michael, a light blue glow appearing on the hand holding the rosary. He pressed his fingers to the man’s temple, and the light entered him, before gradually fading. He looked up at Miss Pauling, who was watching him work, and sighed.

“Right, what are you doing here?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to speak, when he beat her to it.

“No, never mind,” he shook his head. “Come with me. We’ll talk somewhere else.”

Miss Pauling nodded, getting up slowly only to see a white spirit emerge from the unconscious priest. It looked suspiciously like the vampire that bit her.

“Sniper, _mon cher_ , why the jar?” he whined, and the exorcist smirked at him.

“Because I know how much you hate it.” He replied, and the ghost pouted, before disappearing. Sniper turned his attention back to Miss Pauling. “Well?”

“Right,” she nodded, getting up by herself and dusting herself off. Quickly she shut the computer down behind her, and followed after the exorcist out the library and into the moonlight once more.


	5. Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things better seen than hidden.

“Alright, what do you want from me?”

Miss Pauling hadn’t even sat down on the seat across the priest when he spoke up, glaring at her above the rim of his tinted sunglasses with a bottle of beer near his lips. She raised an eyebrow at him and didn’t answer him, instead sitting down and pointedly glancing at the beer bottle.

“I didn’t know priests drank.”

“I didn’t know you don’t answer questions.”

She scowled at him, and crossed her arms. He smirked at her, and put down a bottle of beer in front of her.

“You’re going to need this.” He told her, and she eyed it suspiciously.

“… Thank you.” She slowly replied. “Look, you must know what happened to me.”

“Sure I did.” Sniper nodded. “I exorcised you.”

“No, not that.” She scowled. “I was cursed. To not die, until I did something about it.” She paused, “Like you.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow and lowered his bottle of beer. “I’m not cursed.”

“That’s ridiculous; I looked through the church records of exorcisms. All those men were _you_!” she accused, “You appeared in every year since the last few centuries!”

Sniper frowned at her, and gestured at her drink. “Take a swig, mate. You need to calm down first.”

“Do you believe me, though?”

“Probably.”

She glared at him, but took a swig from the bottle.

Her eyes widened the moment her throat suddenly constricted painfully, and her world turned in on itself. Her mind reeled, as oxygen left her blood quickly, and that’s when she realised it—anger filling her mind as she mustered the strength to glare at the priest calmly staring at her.

She’d been poisoned.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

* * *

“Spy.”

“ _Oui_?” the vampire turned around, nursing a burn on his cheek, his balaclava hitched up on his cheekbone to reveal an ugly dark purple burn mark across his pale cheek. With a small smile, he invited Death into his home, gesturing at a plush red-velvet armchair not too far from where he stood in front of his mother’s old vanity mirrors. One was broken, and the other two were fragmented, and broken to bits.

Neither bore any reflection.

“ _Guten abend_.” Medic greeted, taking a seat soundlessly in the seat offered to him, before crossing one leg over the other. “I came here to speak to you about the boy.”

“Ah, _oui_. What about little Scout?"

“Engineer has discovered your haunting spot.”

Spy paused in his movements, and turned around to look at the man, his expression visible from the bit of the balaclava that rode up giving away nothing. “How?”

“Someone was calling for him, I’d imagine. The boy’s mother?” Medic replied, lacing his fingers together under his chin to rest on them. “Aside from that, what happened to your face?”

“A little mishap in Sniper’s convent.” Spy replied offhandedly. “I see my curse worked.”

“I made it work.” Death replied, scowling, and the vampire immediately relented.

“Of course, of course, Medic.” He nodded graciously, before turning his attention back to the empty mirrors. “How bad is it?”

Medic raised an eyebrow. “I’d imagine it’d be terrible; you’d lose a source of sadness—”

“I’m not worried about Scout, Medic. He is cursed—not even Engineer can grant him enough happiness to break my curse on his family.” He cut the man off. “I’m asking about the burn.”

Medic saw a little smirk cross the man’s face.

“Am I still handsome?”

“Beauty is relative.” The other man replied, getting up from his seat. “It seems my visit was useless.”

“Indeed.” Spy replied, not even turning as Medic approached his open window, the moonlight shining into it a little weakly now, the last few hours of the night slowly transitioning to day. “Tomorrow he’ll return to his doctor.”

A cruel—almost _evil_ —smile crossed Medic’s face.

“Oh?”

“I’ll show you—he’s still very much full of despair.” Spy smirked. “I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow—the _poor_ thing deserves to go through today half-dead, don’t you think?”

Medic chuckled darkly, and shook his head, almost fondly. “You saint.”

“I try.” Spy chuckled, watching the man leave in wisps of smoke.

* * *

“Scout, baby, time to wake up,” his mother’s voice awoke him gently from the most peaceful dream he had had in years, and Scout was almost resentful of her for waking him up from it.

Groaning lightly, he sat up, and looked to his left—the Engineer was gone, and his heart almost sank to his stomach, when he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

“ _I didn’t leave you, Scout_.”

A little smile crossed his face, and his mother saw it, a smile wider than his appearing on her face.

“Did the Unisus visit you last night?” she asked, kissing Scout’s forehead as he sat up. He nodded at her, brightly smiling.

“Your song worked, Ma,” he grinned, “I slept well last night, because he was here.”

“ _Scout, kid, I have to take care of things—I’ll be back to you as soon as I can, alright?_ ”

He didn’t say anything, but he was completely fine with it—he was safe now, anyway—he was with his mother.

She smiled at him, and nodded, stroking his hair. “That’s great, baby. You’re all rested-up?” he nodded at and she nodded. “Well, today, we have to go to your psychiatrist.”

Immediately the colour drained from Scout’s face, and his mind screamed for his newfound friend’s company—but he was no longer there.

“No, please, no,” he weakly mumbled, a single tear running down his cheek, but his mother wiped it away comfortingly.

“Baby, it’s the only way you’ll get better.”

“No, no, no, please…”

Suddenly, he was so, so alone, and he felt nothing in him, only a painful hollowness as the next thing he knew he was sitting in a reclining chair, in a hospital gown, feeling so weak, so _exposed_ , so alone.

“… Please, no…”

“Okay, Scout,” the large man lowly chuckled by his ear. He could feel spittle on his shoulder and big, heavy, sweaty palms on his thin arms. “Today I’m going to try hypnosis on you. You will fall asleep, in three…. Two… one…”

He didn’t know what was worse—the nightmares ahead of him or the company of such a disgusting man.

* * *

“Ah, Doktor, welcome home.” Heavy greeted him the moment he reappeared in his study, the dark walls a welcome sight from the rotten mansion Spy lived in. With a gracious nod and a little smile, Medic handed Heavy his scythe, before heading to the door of his study.

“Heavy, where are they?”

“In Sinners’ Courtyard. Demo wanted to chew on things.”

Medic rolled his eyes, and a fond chuckle escaped the corpse’s lips.

“Doktor cannot blame him; he is dog.”

“Heavy, Demo is a _wolf_.”

“Is little dog, compared to me.” He chuckled, giving Death a little thumbs-up, and at this a little smile crossed Medic’s face at his right-hand man’s cheerful disposition. “ _Da_?”

“ _Ja_ , I suppose,” Medic replied. “It’s because of your sandwiches, Heavy.”

“ _Da_ , make me big and strong! Can kill little dog with single snap!”

At this, light laughter bubbled from Medic’s mouth, and his pale lips curled up in a happy smile.

Heavy’s smile widened a little more—

When suddenly Medic convulsed, pain crossing his features as he doubled over, clutching his chest as he let out a gasp. He fell to his knees, dry heaving as he gripped at the fabric at his chest, his eyes wide and his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

Heavy’s eyes widened and he dropped Medic’s scythe to rush forward and rub his hand against his back.

“Doktor, are you alright?”

“I-I am fine, _danke_ , Heavy—please,” he patted the corpse’s hand on his back, and straightened up, with a little difficulty. “I insist.”

The corpse frowned, but nodded, pulling away and picking up the scythe he dropped apologetically.

“I’ll go ahead to meet them. Please come there to the courtyard after you’ve returned _Kritzkrieg_.” Heavy nodded, and Medic turned to leave, only to stop. “Heavy?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

Heavy hadn’t moved an inch, still watching Medic, and his eyes widened slightly to see black blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

“I’ve probably told you this far too many times, but I often do wonder why you call me ‘Doktor’.” Death told him, and Heavy could only smile.

“Because I choose to,” he simply replied, and Medic sighed.

“That is what you always answer.” He replied, before turning around, wiping away the trickle of blood on his lips. “I will see you in the courtyard, Heavy.”

“Of course.”

Medic left the room, leaving him alone, and there, the man sighed, lowering the scythe in his hands.

“Be more careful,” he told himself, shaking his head as he headed to the back of Medic’s study, resigned. “You know what happiness does to Medic.”

He put the scythe in its case, and when he closed the lid on it, he sighed.

“Still, it would be nice if he remembered…” he murmured, before turning to leave for the Sinners’ Courtyard.

 


	6. Consecration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hold what little that is sacred close to you. You never know when you might need it.

When Miss Pauling woke up, it was to the scent of rosemary underneath a feather-down pillow, smoke from burning candles of a faint juniper scent and the sound of a choir singing, not muffled enough to be intelligible but still enough to tell her it was a little far away from her.

Groaning she rose out of the bed she lay in, rubbing her temples to find herself in a new room, one of stone walls and antique furniture, and in front of her was a barred window. Curious, she approached the window to find that it had the view of the church beneath it—the room she was in was storeys above the church-goers heads (now singing a hymn she didn’t know of—she never went to church) and was right down the middle aisle in front of the altar, where she could see the priest and sextons go about the mass.

How long had she been out? She wasn’t sure, but it was _definitely_ morning. Probably Sunday.

“Bow your heads for the final blessing.”

Miss Pauling’s lip quirked up slightly as she heard Sniper’s voice, the man giving a solemn, rumbling blessing, as the people responded ‘ _amen_ ’ after he spoke.

She wasn’t quite sure why she crossed herself when Sniper finished off, “… and may the Lord bless you, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, go forth and proclaim the word.”

Shaking her head, Miss Pauling pulled away from the window to head out of the room, trying the door only to find it locked. Clicking her tongue, she sat heavily back down on the bed, frowning.

Now what? She _could_ break the door in (wounds be damned, they’ll patch up) but the service… there were too many people around.

She took a look around the room, and much to her amusement, found a shelf of old, tattered books. They had no titles written on their spines, and the leather that bound them together looked worn, faded and old. Probably _years_ old.

She stood up and hurried to the books, reaching out for them only for a strange sensation to burn at her fingers. She bit back a gasp as she heard the congregation downstairs sing hymns again, and steeled herself once again.

Sniper had these books hexed to protection. They _had_ to be important.

She took a look at her hand, fingertips slightly singed and charred, and shrugged.

She can’t die, she knew that—now, it was time to see what would happen if she got hurt and _didn’t_ die.

* * *

“Father? What’s the rush?” one of the young boys asked as the congregation began to shuffle out of the chapel. Sniper paused in the middle of taking the cassock off his shoulders.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied dismissively, casting a glance up at the hidden window high above their heads. He had felt the warning shock of his protective spell on his books at the back of his hand since the start of his last blessing, and he knew that Miss Pauling had to be awake. The girl had bloody good timing, he had to credit her, and really, he shouldn’t really be worrying about his books, they burned flesh if anyone tried reaching for them, but Miss Pauling—well. She wasn’t quite _ordinary_. “I remembered I left a candle on upstairs.”

“Oh, you’d better get that, Father!” the other sexton said, and with a light nod, Sniper handed the cassock to him, before hurrying away to the staircase behind the confessional, and slipping into the hallway Death would use to visit him when he felt like being seen by humans. The hallway was the only way to get to the secret room, and his feet made no sound against the stone flooring (solid rock that absorbed sound vibrations made by a certain material his shoes were made of—vampire innovation, courtesy of Spy) as he ran to the room, where he ushered the wind in front of him to gust the door open—

To reveal Miss Pauling sitting on the bed, the dress she stole from the storehouse bunched up around her knees as she read through one of Sniper’s books, humming slightly.

It wasn’t that a shocking sight as he expected it to be when he had entered the room—at least, not until he realised her clothes were once again speckled with blood and her hand looked like it was… _regrowing_.

“What did you do.” he stated rather than asked, striding over to her, reaching out to take the book only to have her pull it back, shutting it.

“I borrowed entertainment.” She replied. “I didn’t know that that vampire friend—ah, rather, _friend_ of yours is named Spy.” A smirk crossed her lips. “The 1800’s must have been a lovely time to have lived in.”

“This is none of your business.”

“I think it is, actually, yeah.” Miss Pauling’s tone turned sharp. “I’ve been bitten by this guy; I think it is totally my business.”

Sniper glowered at her and she glared back at him. Eventually, he relented, and sighed, sitting down heavily on his chair across her to face her.

“Alright. What do you want from me?”

“The last time I heard that question I ended up dead on cobblestone floor.” Miss Pauling crossed her arms, tucking the book between her left arm and her chest.

“The last time you didn’t answer that question I had been expecting an answer.”

Miss Pauling rolled her eyes, and lowered her arms. “Okay, I went looking for you because I was wondering if you knew anyone with a curse on them.”

“You honestly think that people think they’re cursed these days?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow at her, and she scowled at him.

“Work with me here.” She snarled. “Look, I read through your journal, and based on my experience, I’m pretty sure that getting drained by a vampire curses you.”

“Close, but not quite, mate,” Sniper shook his head. “A vampire draining ya with _reason_. ‘S not quite the same as ‘I’m hella-bloody-hungry’ drain.”

“Good enough for me. You’re friends with a vampire; know anyone he’s cursed lately?”

“Do you honestly think friends would talk about things like that?” Sniper deadpanned, and Miss Pauling smirked.

“Normal ones, probably not. A vampire hanging out with an exorcist who are still friends even after he bathed him with holy water might.” She replied smugly, and Sniper scowled at her.

“Bloody assassins.” He muttered darkly, and Miss Pauling stood up from where she sat to stand over him.

“Well, _Father_?” she asked, grinned. “Know anyone?”

Sniper glowered at her in retaliation for a moment, before sighing and nodding.

“I know a kid. But if we run into Spy, you’re telling him that you got off on a lucky guess with this kid, got it?”

Miss Pauling paused for a moment, itching to ask him why, but she stopped when she saw a strange look in Sniper’s eyes—

 _Desperation_.

She knew that look. She was too aware of that look.

“Got it.” She replied instead of her burning _why_ , and held her hand out for him to shake. He took it, her hand mousy compared to his large, calloused ones as they shook firmly.

“Brilliant. I think he should be at the hospital right now.” Sniper stood up and eyed Miss Pauling’s bloodied clothes. “What do you think about a new dress?”

* * *

“Bloody hell. You’d think after hundreds of years being alive something interestin’ would happen.” Demoman managed past the bone of the groaning damned between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully and eliciting horrifying shrieks as rotting-healing sinew and muscle tore and broke. “Worst thing to happen lately is Engie finding our haunting spot.”

“A-ffir-ma-tive!” Soldier barked, amusing himself with his own entertainment, slamming his shovel down onto the heads emerging from the courtyard’s earth in every direction, nonplussed as heads cracked with a sickening sound, like a strange game of whack-a-mole. Not too far away, Pyro was following his example with its own ways, a broken-up axe its makeshift hammer against heads, cleaving them into two, only for them to snap back together seamlessly, dissolving into shrill, pained screams past spliced lips and tongues.

Heavy was standing by himself at the corner of the courtyard, quietly watching them, still frowning over Medic’s sudden coughing earlier, mulling over the scene in his head and mentally berating himself on making such a stupid mistake.

Still, it would take a lot more to bother Death, it would seem, as Medic emerged from billowing smoke, looking no worse for wear, save, perhaps, the scowl on his face.

“It seems Spy is nonplussed over this entire matter.” He spoke up, Archimedes flying to him and perching on his shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about, he says. The curse wouldn’t leave the boy no matter what Engineer does.”

“Does that mean we can come back to haunting him?” Demoman asked, dropping the arm in his mouth, grinning widely.

“ _Ja,_ of course.” Medic nodded slowly. “Provided, though, that Engineer does not see you.”

Pyro gave him a thumbs-up, mumbling brightly.

“It being ‘easy’, is relative, Pyro.” Medic spoke up, and he suddenly pursed his lips at the emergence of a beam of light right in front of him. “He’s here.”

There was nothing elegant or soft in Engineer’s arrival now in the Underworld, so unlike his usual behaviour around children or his friends.

“Medic! What’s going on here?” he was yelling as his feet heavily landed on the earth, causing little grass blades and flowers to sprout almost instantly around them. “Demo and Solly and Pyro an’…” he fell silent, though, when he turned around to see the beings in question. A frown crossed his face, and he turned to stride over to them. “Now, fellas, see here…”

“Engineer, calm.” Medic spoke up, his voice reverberating loudly even in the open space they stood in, spooking away the crows that had gathered near them to watch. Heavy began to approach them, concern on his face because of the sudden noise and racket.

“Medic! These guys were torturing a child! A lil’ kid, just 10 years old!”

“Appealing to my empathy is futile.” Medic replied simply, much to Engineer’s dismay, “But they have been only following what is natural.”

“What is _natural_ about giving a little kid nightmares?” Engineer yelled, still mild-mannered, but it was strong enough to get his thoughts across.

“Engineer. The child is cursed.”

“That’s what _they’ve_ been telling me! And nothing else!” Engineer crossed his arms. “What is wrong with little Scout?”

Medic cast a glance at Heavy’s direction, and the corpse-man shrugged.

“If you insist.” He sighed. “Follow Heavy to my sitting-room. I’ll explain myself there.”

Engineer gave him a sceptical glance, and Medic only stared back at him coolly.

“Alright, fine.” He sighed. “I’m expecting the whole truth, hear?”

“ _Jawohl_.” Medic nodded at him, before letting Heavy usher the Unisus away into his home, a path of sprightly green grass and flowers following them in the wake of Engineer’s footsteps. He turned his attention back to the other three beings, all giving him a look of nervous anticipation.

He cast a glance over the three of them, before slowly smirking, the look of nervousness disappearing from their faces as realisation dawned on them.

“Scout is currently seeing his psychiatrist. The usual. Spy is already there; and I am very sure he won’t mind some company.”

Soldier gave him a salute.

“Sir, yes, sir! Heading right away, sir!” he snickered, before fading away in loud, hysterical laughter, just as Demoman gave him a thankful nod, throwing back his head in a howl that shook the wind around them, before jumping high, high into the sky, out of sight.

Pyro waved him goodbye amiably, before getting back on its motorbike and revving the engine. With a muffled voice, it bade Medic goodbye, before speeding away in a flurry of fire and wind, tires screaming and engines howling.

Left alone in still silence, Medic smiled to himself.

“Let what little that is sacred stay so for all of you.” He murmured, the crow on his shoulder nuzzling him affectionately, before he left the courtyard in a cloud of smoke.


	7. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lining of silver in every storm cloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i forgot to post this i am so sorry

In his dreams, things always seemed so real.

“10…”

He was breathing hard, back pressed hard against a wall.

“9…”

His eyes darted left and right, wild, shifting, desperate, searching, yet captive.

“8…”

Where was the exit? Where should he go?

“7…”

Panic rose, burning in his throat.

“6…”

There was a doorway not too far away from him. Maybe, if he could…

“5…”

Running—it was something he was really good at, right? His Ma said he was always such a good runner…

“4…”

Hope flickered inside him. In the doorway he was eyeing, he could see light shining from what looked like an end of a corridor.

“3…”

He’ll make it. He _has_ to make it.

“2…”

He didn’t wait for the count to finish. He burst out of the closet he hid in, and sprinted away through the doorway he was eyeing through the crack in the doors of the closet. He could hear the man laughing behind him as he ran, feet swift and in a blur beneath him as the ground fell away behind him as he ran as fast as he could—faster than he ever mustered before, breaths coming quick and steady like a rabbit’s pulse.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

He only barely heard the teasing voice, the sweet, playful tone, but he could hear fully the promise of blood and pain and torture beneath it.

Scout ran. He ran for his life.

* * *

“Okay, tell me _again_ why you have me in a nurse uniform?” Miss Pauling scowled at the priest she walked with, the man’s expression carefully calm and giving nothing away as they walked past wards and rooms in the psychiatric ward Sniper had told her about not too long ago.

“We’re going incognito, and you were wearing a bloody dress. How is that not going to keep us under the covers?” Sniper replied with a coolness that would have shot cold shivers down Miss Pauling’s spine if she wasn’t careful.

“I wasn’t expecting a _mental hospital_.” She hissed back at him, and when no one was looking, she kicked at his side.

“ _Oi_ , the St. John the Baptist General Hospital is _not_ a bloody loony house.” Sniper scowled at her, but it immediately disappeared when a pair of nuns passed them by, greeting Sniper amiably with demure nods of their heads and a light greeting of hello. “G’day, sisters.” He nodded at them, and when they passed by, he went right back to scowling at Miss Pauling. “You asked for my help, and here we are. I’m already robbin’ my mates of their haunt spots this way but what-bloody-ever, this is just to get you out of my hair.”

She frowned at him. “The sooner we get this kid’s curse broken, the sooner I can off myself.”

Sniper raised an eyebrow at her. “Why’d you want to off yourself, anyway?” he asked, and she sighed, suddenly looking much older and more tired than she usually did. A certain sense of pity washed over the exorcist—he knew that expression.

That was one people who run out of hope on life looked like.

“Things.” She replied simply. “I became an assassin with the sole goal of getting killed in the most spectacular way ever. Funny how my goal gave me this stupid immortality curse.”

Sniper could only nod. The priest inside him wanted to know more.

What could have happened to her to make her want to die this much?

He held his tongue, and with a gentleness that wasn’t there before, he rested his hand at the small of her back and led her deeper into the ward to where they needed to go.

* * *

He was running out of air.

Choking back the sobs that threatened to escape his mouth, Scout ran for his life, past furniture and memories dead and going and gone, silent and dead underneath white, unsullied sheets that hid them like ghosts of a past—or future—that he couldn’t reach. Not now, at least, as his steps rang and banged loudly like screams reverberating off walls—his screams, he realised.

The wind was knocked right out of his lungs as he crashed into the ground, a heavy weight on his back, and his blood run cold in his veins.

_He’d been caught._

There was a heavy laugh in his ear that grew as the fear crawled up his throat.

“I found you.” The voice told him, mockingly, and he knew what came after that. “Now you’re it.”

“Please,” he pleaded, lips trembling, breaths burning, eyes stinging, “Please, don’t—”

The first blow came, between his shoulder blades, ripping a scream from his throat as a fist collided with the tender flesh between his bones, right on top of his spine, and a bodily-shuddering chill tore through his small body.

“Don’t what? But we’re having so much fun.”

A foot kicked him to the side, sending him flying into the wall, slamming him hard against it. He heard a sickening _pop_ , and he just _knew_ that something had gone wrong with his arm. He couldn’t move his right hand properly, and each attempt he made as he slid down the wall was met with searing pain.

He landed on the ground mercifully gracefully, choking back a sob as he felt his side flare up in pain—the man had kicked him in the side—there was probably something wrong with his ribs, too. Groaning, he tried to push himself up off the wall, tried to get away from the monster that attacked him—

When with inhuman speed, the man slammed him back up against the wall and he could see flashes of too-sharp teeth— _vampire_ , his mind screamed—between blows of punches and kicks and slams of a metal object all over him, on his arms when he tried to bring them up as a sorry excuse of protection, or on his legs when he tried to crawl away, or his face when he couldn’t do either.

What was the worst about all of this was that he just couldn’t _die_.

That was all he needed—to get out of this nightmare.

His eyes widened when suddenly the blows stopped. Slowly he lifted his head to see the vampire turn around and spread his arms, like as if he was readying himself to meet with something.

Hope flared in Scout’s heart—had the Unisus, no, Engineer, come for him?

“My friends, hello,” the vampire snickered, and instantaneously, Scout’s flickering light of hope fizzed out. “Welcome,” he chuckled darkly, as he turned back to address Scout. “Let us all take our share of despair.”

The scream of tires, a wolf’s howl, a battle cry and the hiss of tongue against sharp, sharp teeth could not overpower the sounds of anguish and pain tearing from Scout’s lips, his throat, his eyes, and his soul.

* * *

“He’s in here.” Sniper said, gesturing at a room with a small window that was currently blocked by blinds. “Currently being seen by his psychiatrist. Think he’s using hypnosis to calm the kid down.”

“That’s a little archaic.” She frowned, crossing her arms. “Aren’t there meds for that already available or something?”

“Yeah, total despair? Remember?” Sniper jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Kid’s too young to try any hard meds, and he’s got an allergy to virtually every pill out in the pharmacy.” He sighed, shaking his head, as Miss Pauling pulled a face. “Sad, I know. Bloody terrible.”

“What did he even _do_?” she asked, “I can’t imagine what he could have done to deserve this much crap in his life—he’s just a kid!”

“That’s what they said about his mother, too.” Sniper nodded wistfully. “Called ‘er a miracle after she had gotten off and married this lad she was in love with when she was younger.”

Miss Pauling gave him a sceptical glance and he grinned at her.

“It’s not just him, really. It’s his whole family. A few hundred years ago, 1800’s, I think, maybe a little later than that, Scout’s ancestor here thought it would be a great idea to go woo this handsome bloke who shipped himself in from Bulgaria to Venice. Lady was a bloody bohemian, found everything foreign cute, you know how rich people were.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all still like that now.”

“I’d imagine.” Sniper scoffed. “Bloke turned out French—that’s Spy, by the way—but she didn’t mind. Hit it off right away. Went schmoozing each other like a pair of bloody lovebirds.”

Miss Pauling regarded him with a knowing stare and a little smirk playing on her lips.

“Something tells me that this is a first-hand recollection.” She said, and Sniper waved a finger at her threateningly.

“Don’t push your luck,” he snarled lowly, before pulling away from her. “Anyway, just wait out here. Don’t go in there until they’re done. I’m just going to head to the chapel to talk to someone about something.”

“Something about an escape plan for your vampire boyfriend, no doubt.” She smirked, and her eyes widened slightly at the inexplicable blush that crossed Sniper’s face. Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him, pointing at him with a shaking, bewildered finger. “… No way!”

“Spy and I have nothing between us.” Sniper hurriedly denied, pulling his hat on to cover his eyes, before turning around away from her, slipping his rosary on around his neck. “Now wait here, _nurse_ ,” he bit out over his shoulder at her, “And don’t cause trouble.” Without hearing a response from her, he strode away, his robes swishing behind him as people parted out of his way with reverent bows and nods and smiles as if they were welcoming a hero or a saint.

Miss Pauling watched him leave, arms crossed and a grin crossing her face. Well, well. Sniper and Spy? She should have known. Still, it _was_ a little scandalous for a _priest_ to fall in love with a _vampire_ , of all things, but such is the taboo of love—even the most polar opposites attract.

Chuckling to herself, she sat down on one of the chairs next to the door, crossing her legs and tapping her foot on the floor as she waited, doing what she could to appear unrushed or impatient, fiddling with the clipboard Sniper had her carry with her to make her look like she was merely waiting for the doctor inside to finish… whatever it was he was doing in the office.

She began to hum, out of habit, and abruptly stopped when she realised she had been humming the Unisus’s song. She frowned a little at the thought of that creature that brought this about in the first place, when she realised that there was a little girl sitting down next to her, legs swaying in the air and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“O-oh, hi,” she stammered, alarmed that a mere child could sneak up on her like this, as she forced her hand to move and stroke the girl’s messy hair. “What’re you doing here?” she asked as kindly as she could.

“’M next,” the girl replied. “Doctor.” She pointed at the door and Miss Pauling nodded. Must be a good guy, she thought as she cast a glance at the door.

“I see.” She nodded, opening her mouth to speak, when the child spoke up again.

“What were you singing back then? I remember Mama singing that to me when she was still alive.”

Miss Pauling felt something sink inside her chest—the girl had no mother. She smiled at the girl sadly, and leant forward to kiss her forehead as if it was the right thing to do—like it was the _natural_ thing to do. “I was singing a song I learnt a while back. It’s for children who were scared of anything, or when they’re upset.”

She remembered the Administrator scoffing at the song at the times she caught Miss Pauling singing it absently while tracking the Unisus down. When they had both learned what it was for, the woman had brushed it off as a ‘stupid childhood thing kids all forget in time’, but somehow it had stuck to Miss Pauling, despite her intentions.

“Can you teach it to me?” the little girl asked, and Miss Pauling smiled and nodded, setting aside her clipboard before pulling the girl into her lap and hugging her loosely to let her stay comfortable in her arms.

“Sure.” She said, before clearing her throat. “I’m not the best singer around, so I’m sorry in advance.”

The little girl giggled, but she nodded.

“ _Dearest darling Unisus, where art thee?_ ” she sang gently, and the girl fell silent. There was something about Miss Pauling’s voice, her voice wasn’t the smoothest thing she had heard, but the light husk and that warm roughness in her voice was the warmest she had heard in years. It lulled her into a calmness better than any form of hypnosis she had ever come through. “ _I’ve got a wish, please do listen to me_.”

* * *

By the time Medic had finished talking, Engineer’s tea was half-finished and many types of cold. There was shock and confusion boiling in his gut as across him, Death sat back in his seat, taking a sip from his own cup of tea.

“That’s it? That’s the entire reason why this lil’ kid’s cursed to kingdom come?”

“There is hope, _mein freund_.” Medic replied calmly. “When he reaches 20, he will have a chance to find happiness and live life perfectly fine afterwards. Start his own family, whatever.”

“You don’t get off curses that easily, Medic.”

The man smirked into the rim of his cup slightly. “Well, when he’s gotten his first child, the curse is now passed onto them.”

“How is that any better? The cycle just continues!”

“Life is just like that. A large, bitter circle. My job is only to end it.” Medic shrugged, setting down his cup for Heavy to pour in a little more tea. “Are you satisfied now, Engineer?”

“Satisfied? Maybe. Happy? Nope.” The Unisus scowled, but suddenly a voice rang clearly in the room—

“ _Dearest darling Unisus, where art thee?_ ”

Engineer blinked, incredulously, and Medic looked mildly surprised. “Isn’t that that woman Spy cursed for trying to kill you?” Medic asked, waving his hand for his scythe to appear in it in wisps of smoke.

“Yeah, but why would she be singing to me for?” Engineer asked, getting only more annoyed—what gall that woman had to call for him at a time like this!

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Medic asked, slicing his scythe in the air to cut open a tear in the air between them to show Miss Pauling singing to a little girl in her lap as they waited outside a psychiatrist’s office, a gentle— _motherly_ —smile on her face as she sang, fingers gently combing the girl’s hair. Medic’s tiny amused grin widened a little and Engineer’s eyes widened behind his goggles, his wings drooping slightly in surprise.

“Well, well. Look at that.” Medic chuckled, “This is interesting development.”

Engineer could only nod as Miss Pauling finished off the song.

* * *

“That’s a very pretty song.” The little girl mumbled sleepily in her arms, and Miss Pauling chuckled.

“It is, isn’t it?” she smiled, helping the girl back into the seat next to her, as the girl spoke up again.

“You’re a new nurse.” She said, and Miss Pauling nodded at her. “Then you don’t know.”

She blinked. “Don’t know what?”

“That doctor.” The child continued to stare at the door. “He’s a very bad man.”

Miss Pauling frowned, turning to look at the door. What on earth was this kid talking about?

“He does very bad things. No one does anything about it.” The girl continued, before wrapping her tiny hand around what it could on Miss Pauling’s wrist. “Will you do that?”

“I’m—I’m not quite sure what you mean.” Miss Pauling replied, before a loud sob and whimper caught her attention and her head whipped around to look at the psychiatrist’s door with wide, shocked eyes.

“Do something about the bad things.” The girl said, before pointing at the door.

Miss Pauling paused. Will she?


	8. Vices and Virtues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virtue meant nothing to a person like Miss Pauling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday to me~  
> happy birthday to me~  
> betcha didn't think i'd update~  
> but here i am and you're reading this and it's trash and i love tf2's new update but medic you goddamn asshole  
> update one of two of my tf2 fanfics.  
> \---  
> On a more serious note, I am no longer working with Cactus on this, but I have their consent to finish this off, so I will. I understand the circumstances of their disappearance and I wish them well, wherever they are. In the meantime, I hope the readers will still enjoy this story.

For a moment—briefly, like a fleeting whisper in the back of her mind, Miss Pauling saw a tiny child cowering in the corner of a dirty little room, covered in blood, and other fluids, shaking, whimpering, and holding a knife like a rosary in her hands.

She looked at the child, looking up at her expectantly.

Would she do something about the bad people?

* * *

_The blade she got was from the kitchen. The sight of the countertop brought a painful memory to mind, but she shook it from her head. Now was the time, she had to do something or it would be too late._

_They were all asleep upstairs. Exhausted, drunk, high. Resting on hollowed-out girls and blanketed by alcohol and drugs._

_It was now or never._

_Her bruises and cuts and broken soul will heal. Only if she did something about these people._

_Her tiny hand gripped the handle of the blade._

_A price must be paid for change to happen, always._

_For her, it was her innocence, and her childhood._

_Well. She had been abused, she had lost her soul anyway._

_The little child stood above her oppressors, asleep deep in vices._

_Her dress would get stained, she reasoned, as she raised the knife._

_Her virtue was stained. A little more would not matter._

_She brought down the knife a little girl._

_Much later, as she was cleaning it, a woman by the name of Helen approached her in her home, now calm and collected, no longer a girl, but never quite a woman._

* * *

She had done it before, hadn’t she? She could always do it again.

“Yes, I will.” She replied, voice steely, cold, _prepared_ , as she slowly got up from her spot.

“You will?” the girl echoed, as she watched Miss Pauling walk up to the door, and without a knock, enter.

* * *

The image Medic had conjured up lasted only until the door opened but Engineer still managed to see what was inside, and his eyes widened behind his goggles.

“M-Medic, that place…”

“Ah, yes, _that_ place.” Death replied nonchalantly, waving the traces of smoke away from them before taking another sip of his tea. “That’s his psychiatrist. Molests him while he’s out, molests him while he’s awake.”

“What?!” Engineer gasped, his wings ruffling up in shock.

“Cursed, _mein freund_. It’s the way things are.” Medic set his tea down on the table. “It’s the, ah, natural way of things.”

“Curses sure as hell ain’t natural!” Engineer frowned at him, flying up into the air. “I’m headin’ right there right now!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Medic said, mostly to himself, because by the time he was halfway through his sentence, Engineer was already gone, lost in a tiny spark of rainbow light in the ceiling of his sitting-room. He sighed tiredly, just as Heavy entered the room, peering in before entering.

“Doktor?” he asked, walking in with another pot of tea in his hands. “Where is Engineer?”

“Off to see that Scout child.” Medic replied, waving Archimedes over and letting the bird peck at the crumbs left on the table. “He never gives up, at all, doesn’t he, _mein freund_?”

The corpse man nodded, laughing warmly. “Is interesting happening. Let it continue.”

“Indeed.” Medic’s grin curled against the rim of his teacup, as Heavy set the pot down on the table in front of him. “Heavy, your biscuits are as sublime as always.”

“Thank you, Doktor.” Heavy smiled at him widely, clearly proud of himself, and Medic let a smile cross his face—a rare, soft one that made the corners of his mouth creak and the empty space in his chest stir—

And Death’s eyes widened in an equally rare moment that he broke from his cool exterior as a cough tore through his throat, pushing ugly heat and darkness up to his mouth, and he bent over, spilling his tea as he dropped it onto the table with a useless _clunk_ , hot earl grey spreading across the stark white lace, hissing loudly as heat met with the unforgiving cold of Medic’s home.

“Doktor!” Heavy called, rushing to him as he slipped into a coughing fit, thin body shaking with tremors that threatened to tear his ancient body apart in sheer force, dark black blood slipping down from the corner of Medic’s lips.

“N-not again,” Medic choked, weakly, as Heavy rubbed his large hand on Medic’s back to soothe him as best as he could. “Why does this keep happening? I cannot be sick.” He gasped, leaning on the corpse for support, shaking wildly as large hands rested on him in attempts to stop the tremors.

Heavy said nothing, frowning over Medic’s shoulder, out of his eyesight.

A moment of silence lapsed as Medic’s breathing grew calmer, breaths deeper and quieter, until his coughs had stopped and only black blood remained still on Medic’s hands and Heavy’s shoulder.

“Heavy.” A quiet Medic spoke up much, much later, after a long moment of simply staying as they were.

“ _Da_ , Doktor?”

“Is there something wrong with me?” he asked, oddly tender— _tired_ , weakened.

“Nothing wrong with Doktor.” He replied. “Doktor is perfect as he is.”

“Heavy, I am Death—and yet—and yet—I am _dying_.”

Heavy pulled away to see Medic looking at the black blood turning into ash in his hands.

“You’re not dying, Doktor. I won’t let you.” Heavy said, determinedly, and Medic looked up at him, expression set and carefully neutral, and regarded him for a long time, before slowly nodding.

“… _Danke_.”

It was quiet, but Heavy felt it ring through his head.

“You’re welcome, Doktor.”

Medic nodded slowly, before shakily getting up from his seat, Heavy moving back to give him space. “I need some time in the Aviary.” He said, and Heavy nodded, making a move to head to the door, when Medic spoke up again.

“ _Alone_.” He said, with finality in his tone, and Heavy stared at him with wide eyes, before nodding and backing down. He took a deep breath, and nodded. “Find Engineer. Help him if he needs it—he’s going after that Scout boy and that assassin is there as well. It would be… inconvenient if she tried anything.”

Heavy nodded.

“Good.” Was the only thing Medic said, before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

* * *

She should  _not_ have opened that door.

The moment she did, the sight was so familiar it was crippling.

The dirty man. The crying, unconscious child. The hands in unwanted places. The sound of heavy breathing over the sound of whimpering and crying and sniffling.

Something in her mind broke—repressed memories flooded like water escaping a dam, as the sight of wild eyes and fangs and bared hissing breath met her and the first thing that she thought—

 _This man is a monster_.

She dove, the child in her kicking and screaming for escape, for release, but a different, smaller voice in her whispering for rescue—for another child’s future that should be drastically different than hers.

She could hear hissing, and screaming, sounds that weren’t entirely human, but the child lying down on the recliner was the only thing in her sights—panic rose in her like never before and her breathing grew uncontrollable. She was probably hyperventilating, and fear thundered like her heart like a force she came to forget.

She landed with a thud next to the boy and she immediately pulled him into her embrace, unaware she was already screaming for him to stop, to go away, to not touch this child, not do anything—

And in a shrill, piercing moment, everything went black.

* * *

There was screaming down the hall and Sniper’s eyes widened behind his glasses. Around him nuns gasped in shock and the priest he was previously talking to squeaked in alarm.

“What was that?!” he demanded, nodding at Sniper, flustered, before walking around him to head back out the office they were in, robes swishing behind him. “What’s going on in the psychiatric ward?”

Sniper jolted slightly in alarm. _Pauling_.

“Bloody…” he murmured under his breath, before hurriedly turning to the nuns. “Sorry, sisters, I think I’ll have a look at that as well.” He handed them back the records book they gave him, “Let me know if you find anything, please.”

“Of course, Father,” the one who took the book from him nodded gracefully, before he, too rushed out of the head deacon’s office and into the hospital’s emergency bay. He turned around haphazardly, looking around for those familiar cat-eye-rimmed glasses, but he saw none, and cursing under his breath, he hurried to the psychiatric ward, slinking around doctors and nurses and priests and nuns all in his way, smiling at him like he was in a middle of a nightmare, as worst-case-scenario after worst-case-scenario flashed through his mind.

There was, after all, a reason to be so panicked—this hospital had a resident incubus-possessed running around its halls, and Miss Pauling _had_ been dealing in supernatural trade.

God knows what could go wrong.

* * *

She had never really dreamed deeply before, but now that she was, things seemed so real.

She could feel all of it all over again—the pain, the hurt, the shame, the _fear_. It was etched on her body, in her bones, through her blood.

She could feel hands everywhere—her throat, her mouth, her eyes, her wrists, her arms, her ankles, between her legs—

A scream escaped from her as she fought to block out the sudden influx of input, hands coming up to her head to cover what they could, but as she did it was all over as quickly as it began.

Slowly she opened her eyes to see a familiar sight—corpses strewn on the ground, her tiny hands shaking, clutching a knife like a rosary, frightened, wild eyes of a small child looking back at her as she stared into her reflection in a shattered wall mirror.

She was a child again.

Miss Pauling dropped her knife, the sound loud and clanging and jarring in the background.

No, not again, please, God, never again, oh, _God_ —

Panic rose up in her throat, burning hot like bile, as she took shaky steps back away from the corpses, her bare feet splitting vibrant red cuts as she stepped over broken glass, but she was preoccupied with the fear that built up inside her, as her vision turned a sickly greenish red.

“I—I didn’t—I didn’t,” she blabbered, her voice young and tiny again, as blood welled up in her mouth, teeth bobbing up and down amicably in the flow, “No, it—it wasn’t my—they—they—”

“ _Hush your blabbering, child_ ,” Helen’s voice cut through her mind like a hot knife through butter. “ _That’s life. They took yours, you only took what they had in return_.”

She froze.

“I… _I killed them_.” She breathed, her vision clearing, as the door in front of her opened and light flooded in past the silhouette of a woman.

“ _And so did they. But now what are they to you_?”

“… Dead,” she ventured.

Helen’s laughter was biting, and high above her head the silhouette shook with dry mirth.

“ _All because you made them that way._ ” She tapped her cigarette and yellow-orange-red-black soot landed on her hand. “ _Because what are you now_?”

She blinked.

“ _Why is the past so relevant now when you have a future so secure_?” the woman’s voice stung her ears, but she felt so grateful hearing them. “ _Go on, we can’t all wallow in the past. This will stay like this as long as you let it_.”

“This was all a dream, then?”

There was no response, and relief flooded her head.

She knew it. The past is in the past—

Now what was important was that child. She needed to clear her head, so she bent over, child and all, and picked up a bottle.

No time to waste being a virtuous prat. There were vices to get rid of.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “Ma’am Helen.”

She could nearly hear her boss’s dry laughter, the same kind when she would slip into her soft, grateful tone at her when she was being sincere, and she smiled as well.

She closed her eyes and took a swig, feeling the arid air around her change dramatically, dropping to levels she associated with only one being, and she knew she was out of whatever monster’s trance she was trapped in, as the taste of rum filled her tongue, burning her throat with a familiar, welcome sensation.

Her eyes slowly opened as she lowered the bottle, and she was at a dark, cold place—the sanatorium, an old home, a decrepit hospital, all rolled into one, with dark lighting and broken, old furniture littered about, some barely holding on some completely unrecognisable, all somehow trying to hide beneath a white sheet their sin of existing.

What a place, she thought. So this was what it was like in that child’s head.

She walked steadily down the hallway she was dropped at, following a dark liquid trail on the floor, the bottle of rum still in her left hand. Her flat, white shoes made little sound on the old, creaky floorboards as she walked, calmly, knowing completely that she was bound to find what she was looking for.

And she did, as the body of a young boy was thrown in her direction from a corridor she was about to pass, blood bone and sinew creaking with screams as it slammed against the wall next to her. Immediately Miss Pauling picked the boy up, bundling him in her arms while balancing the bottle in the crook of her neck. The boy in her arms whimpered slightly, confused and pained, but she said nothing as she ran onwards with a speed she knew was possible only in dreams as behind her she could hear the sound of approaching night terrors, urging her to go on faster.

Eventually she heard the boy weakly speak up.

“Who… are you?” he asked, and in a rare moment of tenderness, she kissed his forehead.

“I’m the one who’s going to save you.” She murmured into his hair and she could feel him jolt in her arms.

“No one’s… done that for me before.”

“No one’s ever tried?” she asked, turning a corner deftly, neatly avoiding what looked like a decrepit cabinet thrown at her.

“The Unisus did… did he send you?”

Miss Pauling paused for a moment, before chuckling fondly.

“… Sort of.”

The boy lifted his head, and smiled at her, teeth bloody and lips torn and eyes bruised and cheeks cut, but it was still as endearing as ever, as he wrapped his arms around her neck and weakly hugged her.

“Thank you.”

She smiled into his shoulder, and said nothing as she jumped up a stool that suddenly appeared nearby, a chair and up into what looked like a ventilation shaft, wide open and all too ready to accept her to come in.

* * *

Sniper burst into the room in time to see the doctor inside drop the priest first to the scene to the ground, bloody and so very much dead, judging by the hideous human-toothed bite at the jugular, before turning around to face him, eyes wide and wild with the thrill of the kill and the shock of being discovered.

“You hold still right there.” Sniper growled, pulling out a silver rosary from his breast pocket, earning him a hiss from the creature, as he crossed himself hurriedly, already murmuring in Latin as he slowly approached the incubus. “You’ve grown old, haven’t you? Living off molesting children, you’re worse than your whole kind, you bloody scum.”

It hissed at him, moving back, human maw opening to reveal three jaws, but Sniper didn’t even flinch, dropping an iron crucifix on the dead priest’s body as he passed him to avoid further corruption.

“A disgraced incubus.” He smirked, carefully keeping eye contact with the monster. “Doomed to live off base scraps and human flesh. No wonder you’re deteriorating.”

The creature snarled at him, making a leap at him, but Sniper was ready and dodged out of the way in time for only his hat to get knocked off. “The door!” he yelled out the open door, and much to his relief, some nuns who were outside slammed it shut on the beast’s fingers before it could get out. It let out a piercing shriek, pained, as it tugged on its arm in an attempt to get his fingers dislodged, as Sniper took the moment to take a look around.

He saw Miss Pauling and Scout curled up on the recliner, the both of them with creases on their brows, but a small grin crossed Sniper’s lips when he saw Miss Pauling’s arms wrapped around the boy in a protective manner. No doubt the both of them were under the incubus’s mind trick, but—

His thoughts were interrupted when the incubus lunged at him, fingers missing and stumps bleeding, and Sniper immediately blocked him with the silver rosary, teeth grit and brow knotted together in concentration as he began to chant—loudly—the prayer to St. Michael the Archangel, as outside, he could hear the collective quiet of people praying the rosary.

He could almost laugh—it was just like old times back in Venice.

He had to admit to himself, as the beast recoiled, screeching, before lunging at him sluggishly, allowing a quick side-step to dodge it, that perhaps helping this strange assassin out wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

* * *

Miss Pauling crawled through the ventilation shaft, ignoring all the cobwebs that clung to her as she carried the boy in her arms, keeping him from touching the floor, the bottle of rum in the boy’s arms as she crawled through.

She didn’t know where she was going—all she knew was that she was going to keep this kid safe. It was the right thing to do.

It was the only thing she _can_ do.

“Listen to me.” She told him, “This world is all yours.” She stroked his hair as best as he could as he looked up at her, confused.

“… Mine?”

“Yeah, you can make anything happen here,” she continued. “Listen, we made it up here into this shaft because you let me into it.”

The boy blinked at her. “I…?”

She grinned. “I _can_ help you, I can help save you, but you’re going to need to help me too.”

“I… I can try,” the boy began, a tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes as he fisted his small hand in her dress, and she smiled at him.

“That’s great.” She nodded. “Look, I—”

“There you are.” A voice suddenly spoke up and in the darkness of the shaft in front of her, Miss Pauling could see something moving—towards them, _very_ fast. In her arms, the boy began to shake, whimpering in fear.

It only took a second, and the next thing she knew she was nose-to-nose with a certain vampire she was desperately trying to avoid.

Spy kissed her gently, smirking with his teeth shining unnaturally in the darkness.

“ _Bonjour_ , Miss Pauling, I didn’t think you’d be able to join in today.”


End file.
